


Home on Hallow's Eve

by scientificapricot



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: CS AU, Captain Swan Halloweek 2019 (Once Upon a Time), F/M, Fluff, Halloween, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Rated T for some mild swearing, The Enchanted Forest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 04:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21247841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scientificapricot/pseuds/scientificapricot
Summary: Emma discovers that while she loves the Hallow's Eve festival, she loves it more when there's a pirate around to share it with.





	Home on Hallow's Eve

**Author's Note:**

> I present to you my longest fic to date, written for @cshalloweek over on Tumblr. It's also my first time writing for a fandom event! Yay! I wanted to explore what Halloween might look like in the Enchanted Forest, and this is the result. Get ready to dive into some fluffy, sweet, and pining Captain Swan, and some good Halloween vibes. 
> 
> Many, many thanks to @artistic-writer, who is an absolute gem and kindly beta-ed this for me. You should totally go check out her work on here and on Tumblr.
> 
> I do not own Once Upon a Time or its characters.

The first time a pirate ship docks in Emma Swan’s village, the leaves are golden and red, shining in the sunlight, and the creaking of the ship and shouts of the crew are accompanied by a chill wind that rustles the trees. 

While the ship itself is not a surprise, even in a port village as small as this one, it’s occupants are. The villagers stop their daily tasks, watching the ship dock with curiosity and no small amount of wariness. The watchman, their best excuse for law enforcement, tightens his grip on his sword as the skull and crossbones sigil is lowered from the mast. 

Emma, however, is not there for the spectacle. Her apothecary shop sits a few blocks away from the sea, and so she has no inkling of the pirates in town until Granny tells her later that afternoon. 

“They didn’t attack?” Emma asks, confused, because her (admittedly lacking) knowledge of pirates does not paint them as the type to peacefully pull into port. 

“They didn’t attack _ yet _,” Granny says. “But mark my words, they’ll bring nothing but trouble. Probably came to pillage the harvest stores while everyone’s at the festival.” She shakes her head disapprovingly. “And I’ll take two jars of the tea, with this cold moving in I expect my aches to start up soon.” 

“Stealing the harvest would be much crueler than taking our gold,” Emma says with a bite. “They wouldn’t get any mercy from me. And take a jar on the house, I know you’ll be back in for more before winter’s end.” When Granny tries to decline the offer, Emma rolls her eyes fondly. “Take it, and perhaps you could save a bowl of that pumpkin stew for me tonight if it would make you feel better?” 

“Oh alright,” Granny grumbles. “Though you didn’t really have to ask, I know it’s your favorite.” 

Emma smiles. “Thank you, Granny. I’ll see you later then. Watch out for pirates on your way back.” Though her tone is jesting, Emma wonders if she should offer to accompany the older woman. 

“Hah! It’ll take more than a couple of pirates to take me down! It’s lasses like you who should be careful. I expect they’ll be looking for company tonight.” 

“Oh, it would definitely take more than a couple of them to best me.” Sparks fly from Emma’s fingertips as she speaks, and she smirks knowingly.

“You know, I’d almost like to see them try. ” And with that, the older woman is gone, and Emma is alone in her shop. 

Judging by the autumn light, she has just a couple of hours before nightfall, and figures it couldn’t hurt to begin the closing process a little earlier this evening. All the villagers know where to find her in the case of an emergency anyways. She sweeps up the dried leaves that have blown in over the course of the day, saving a few especially colorful ones for her festival decorations. The money is counted and tucked safely in the lockbox, which Emma also protects with an enchantment (there is little crime in their village, but the news of the pirates has made her especially wary). As she is packing away her fresh apples and miniature pumpkins to store in the cellar for the night, the shop bell rings.

Emma stands up from her task to see an unfamiliar man in black leather step through the doorway, and has to stop herself from gasping (In surprise? Attraction? She’s not really sure.) when she sees his face. He has extremely handsome features; full lips, a dusting of scruff, and a scar on his cheek, accompanied by dark, windswept hair and kohl-lined eyes that remind her of the blue October sky outside. It is only after she tears her eyes away from his face that she registers the imposing leather duster and the sharp silver hook in place of his left hand. _ Right. Pirates._

Luckily, the pirate has been examining the shop with an interested eye (it doesn’t _ seem _ like he’s scoping the place out but she’s wary all the same), and so hasn’t noticed her staring. When his gaze does finally meet hers, his eyes widen, before a smirk plays across his lips, and he takes a few swaggering steps towards her. 

“They didn’t tell me there was an enchantress in this town.”

She vaguely registers that he had a gorgeous accent before the meaning of his words hits her, and she stiffens. _ Enchantress? What does he want with me? Has the king turned against magic users and hired spies to find us? _

Her voice is hard, and her friendly customer demeanor, always springing to the ready when the bell rings, slips away. “What is your business with an enchantress, pirate?” Her magic coils, like a spring about to be let loose. 

He stops in his progression towards her, his voice still flirty and light, but with an underlying seriousness to it. “Well whatever it was, that would strictly be between me and her.” He tilts his head, studying her with an astute gaze. 

Emma realizes that he’s probably too clever to distract away from the conversation, yet has not felt at all threatened since this man walked into her shop, and so she throws some caution to the wind (she could take him on if need be anyway). “What if I was one? An enchantress, or… something?” 

Surprise flashes across his face, and- _ does he look impressed? _ “Then I would be honored to be in your presence.” His previously flirtatious smirk melts into something more genuine, and he gives a respectful tilt of his head. “And I would tell you that if you wished your skills to remain a secret, I’d swear on a pirate’s honor to keep them as such.”

“A pirate’s honor? That’s not very reassuring.” 

A shadow of hurt flicks across his face, but before she can take a closer look it’s gone, and he’s nodding sagely. “I suppose not. How about on the soundness of my ship?”

“Is it very sound?”

“_She _. And yes, indubitably.”

Emma allows a small smile. “Then I suppose I’ll have to hold you to your oath.”

The man bows. “I am glad to keep it. But where are my manners? We haven’t been properly introduced. Captain Killian Jones, at your service, Miss…?”

“Swan. Emma Swan.” She extends her hand as a gesture of goodwill, figuring that as long as she has no proof of ill will from him, it can’t hurt to be friendly to a potential customer (while still exercising a level of caution).

The captain moves closer to her, watching her for any sign of hesitation or discomfort. When he finds none, he gently takes her hand in his and lifts it to his lips. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Swan.”

Emma swears that her heart skips a beat at the fleeting, warm press of his mouth to her skin, the texture of his stubble sending a shiver up her arm as he withdraws and releases her hand. “Same to you, Captain. And just Emma is fine.” _ Shit _, she hopes she imagined the catch in her voice.

“Well, Emma, if I am to refer to you as such, then I must insist that you call me Killian.”

_ Okay, maybe she’s a little obsessed with the way his accent caresses her name. He doesn’t have to know that. _

She nods, and though she really wants to ask why he came to the village, she settles for, “What brings you into my shop?”

“Our medical supplies have been depleted on recent journeys, and I was told that you were the best place to replenish such stocks.” With great difficulty, it seems, he tears his gaze away from her to glance around the shop. “I assume I was not led astray?”

She smirks. “Far from it. What sort of things did you have in mind?”

They spend the better part of the next half hour together gathering herbs and tinctures, fresh rolls of bandages and thread for stitches, and some ointments for burns and infection. Emma finds the captain to be well-versed in the uses of most herbs and in the needs of his crew, and though he already seems to know what items to procure, she is pleasantly surprised to find him an attentive listener as she explains the benefits or disadvantages of certain products. The most surprising, however, is that he accepts what she says without trying to argue, or insist upon the correctness of some of his inaccurate knowledge. 

As she is summing up his total payment, a thought occurs to her. “Why did you come to buy all of this, and not the ship’s doctor?”

He seems surprised by her question but answers her all the same. “Our doctor elected to stay behind at the last port, and I would rather not leave such an important task to my crew. They all have their merits, but aside from the doctor, I have the most medical knowledge, and my crew’s wellbeing is my first priority. Buying the finest medicines and healing supplies is the best way to ensure that.” 

Emma nods, and can’t help the growing feeling of kinship with this pirate captain. She feels the same way about many of the townsfolk, her friends and neighbors, an extended family for an orphan who never had one. Seeing the same fierce loyalty in Killian’s blue gaze, she suspects that he has a similar story to her own. He carries the same look that she sees in the mirror, the look you get when you’ve been left alone for far too long. While she never expected such dedication to come from a pirate, she senses that he is an outlier among the group.

As she wraps up his purchases, Emma asks him, “Are you staying in port for long?”

His eyes light up at that, playful and pleased, with a tentative glimmer of hope hiding deep within them. “Already had enough of the scoundrel pirates?” he teases.

“I’ve only met one of you so far,” she laughs. “No, the Hallow’s Eve festival is tomorrow evening. If you’re staying, be sure to be on your best behavior.”

Killian raises an eyebrow. “I’ve heard of this holiday, but never celebrated it. Is it fit for pirates?”

Emma cocks her head at him. “Maybe. Can pirates have a bit of fun without pillaging and plundering?”

“I suppose. Though pillaging and plundering are also quite _ fun _, love.” He throws her an exaggeratingly flirtatious look as he gathers his newly bought supplies, peering at her through his eyelashes, waggling his eyebrows, and running his tongue along his bottom lip. The intended effect is rather ruined though, what with his arms being full of merchandise.

Emma snorts at his ridiculous behavior, though privately she thinks that she might like to do some pillaging and plundering with him. He’s certainly easy on the eyes, and her choices are rather slim in town. “I’m well aware.”

Killian straightens up, his flirty expression changing to something more genuine. “Perhaps we will extend our stay. Gods know my crew would appreciate a few meals not consisting of hardtack and dried meat. I’ll suggest it to them upon my return.”

As he heads for the door, Emma calls from behind the counter. “Just remember, you’ll have to answer to me if there’s any trouble.” She lets her magic shine out from her fingertips, her hair blowing in its soft breeze, a quiet warning, but a warning nonetheless.

Killian watches, mesmerized, and nods his head respectfully towards her. “I should hope I know better than to cross a woman such as yourself.” Before he leaves, he smiles warmly at her. “You have my gratitude for your help, Emma.” And with the tinkling of the bell, he’s through the door and gone, leaving behind a faint scent of rum and a blossoming sense of longing in Emma. 

-/-/-/-

Later that evening in the tavern, Granny regales Emma with the dangers of pirates. The older woman owns and runs the place, but has enough help that she can spend ample time behind the bar talking to patrons if she wishes. 

“-and don’t even bother trying to play a game of dice with them. They’ll bleed you dry until all your coin is somehow in _ their _ pockets.” 

Emma continues to eat her dinner, only responding with a mild ‘hmm’ as she blows on a spoonful of stew.

“They should just restock their stores and be done with it. We don’t need that kind of riffraff hanging around here.” Granny’s tirades are hushed and muttered, as the aforementioned pirates are currently also having their evening meal in the tavern, and while she may gripe about it, Granny is smart enough not to offend paying customers. She throws a suspicious look towards their table. “And I don’t like the look of the one in black. A heartbreaker if I ever saw one.”

Emma has an inkling as to which pirate Granny is talking about, and a quick glance in the direction of the older woman’s gaze confirms it. Killian is speaking amicably with Ruby, who has just brought their tankards of ale and has a delighted grin upon her face. Emma wants to laugh at Granny’s assessment, but the unwelcome twinge of jealousy in her chest prevents that. She shifts on her stool and gives herself a mental shake. _ Gods, you only just met the man, Emma. Ruby has a right to talk to him if she wants. _To distract herself, Emma tries to tune in to what Granny is currently saying.

“-is probably wanted across the kingdoms, and that’s not even including offenses not recognized by the law. A no-good womanizer I bet, probably thinks he can sleep with whoever he pleases, and damn the consequences-”

“He came into my shop today,” Emma interrupts. Though she owes nothing to him or his reputation, she is loathe to let Granny make such assumptions about Killian. Despite having had only a single interaction with him, Emma has inferred enough about his character to know that such descriptions do not at all fit the man she met. 

“Did he? What for?” Granny asks sharply, peering at Emma over the rims of her glasses. 

“Medicine,” Emma deadpans. 

“He didn’t threaten you, or try to steal anything, or-“

“Granny, no.” Emma rolls her eyes affectionately and shares a look with Ruby, who has just returned to the bar. “He came in to restock his medical supplies, I helped him find the right things, he paid, and then left. No untoward behavior or pirating to speak of.”

“Really?” Granny sounds like she doesn’t want to believe it, but is intrigued all the same.

“Really. He actually wasn’t that bad, as far as customers go.” Ruby is giving her a look that plainly says she wants to know more, so Emma continues. “He was…. nice. Introduced himself as Captain Killian Jones, told me they stopped here to resupply on a few things. Actually _ listened _to me when I advised him on what he should buy. Paid in full, and didn’t try to swipe one thing.” Emma leaves out the flirting because she doesn’t want to open that can of worms with Granny around.

“Doesn’t sound very much like a pirate,” Ruby declares. She sets a shot of rum in front of Emma. “Here you go.”

Emma blinks, confused; it’s not like Ruby to mix up orders. “Oh, that’s not mine.”

“I think it is,” Ruby singsongs. “You’ve got an admirer.” She grins, nodding to one of the tables behind her, but Emma already knows who the drink is from.

She turns around in her seat, catching Killian’s gaze and holding up the shot glass with a raised brow. He doesn’t strike her as the type to get a woman drunk in hopes of a good night, but then again, she just met the man. Maybe he is, and her character judgment has finally failed her. 

Instead of a lascivious smile, however, or unprompted advances, Killian stares steadily back at her, and touches his closed fist to his chest. _ Pirate’s honor _, he mouths.

Emma, for her part, is pleasantly surprised, and something else she can’t quite name (her magic tingles under her skin, her heart doing this annoying fluttering thing that she doesn’t want to think about). Though she greatly appreciates his confirmation of upholding his oath to secrecy about her magic all the same. She nods once and gives him a grateful smile before downing the shot of rum. It burns spicy sweet in the back of her throat as she swallows, the lingering scent of the alcohol reminding her of the man who sent it. 

It is not until much later that night, when the tavern is considerably emptier, that Emma interacts with Killian again. After finishing her meal, she stuck around to help Granny put up decorations for the festival the next day, and is still hanging orange, purple and black cloth streamers when Killian approaches her. 

“Perhaps you could enlighten me, love. I’m still not clear on what this _ Hallow’s Eve _ festival entails.”

Emma looks down at him from where she is standing on one of the tavern chairs, holding onto a roof beam for balance. He’s leaning casually against a nearby table, eyeing the streamers, mini pumpkins and other decorations curiously, though Emma could have sworn she’d just felt his eyes on _ her. _She glances around the room, surprised to see that Killian’s crew have left along with most of the other patrons. 

As if he read her mind, Killian says, “I sent my men back to the ship. I can see the proprietor of this establishment has enough to worry about tonight without that rowdy bunch underfoot.”

“Very astute, but Granny also values paying customers,” Emma says, a disapproving note coloring her voice. 

“I believe they paid her quite handsomely for the barrels of ale and rum that they took with them. They’ll have to answer to me if they neglected to.” A sense of authority takes over his voice, and for a moment Emma imagines him on his ship, commanding his crew in raids or battle.

“I think they should be more worried about Granny,” Emma laughs. “I try not to get on her bad side if I can help it.”

Killian grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You? I cannot fathom it.”

Emma smiles mischievously. “Pirates aren’t the only ones who get into trouble..”

“Mhhm. I’d like to hear what tales you have to tell some time.” Killian watches her as she hangs the last streamer. “But first I’d like to know more about this festival for which we are delaying our departure.”

“You are staying then?”

“A bit of fun couldn’t hurt. Is that still agreeable to you?”

“As long as you keep the pirating at bay, I have no problem with it.” Emma goes to step down off the chair, and in doing so takes Killian’s proffered hand with hardly a thought to her actions. That is, until she feels the warmth of his skin on hers, and as she steps safely onto the floor their eyes meet, each slightly holding their breath as a spark passes between them. Emma draws back first, though strangely she misses the sensation as soon as the cool air meets her freed palm. Killian is looking away, almost bashfully at the floor, and his rather adorable countenance doesn’t make it any easier for Emma to step away and put the chair back where it belongs. It does, however, give her a chance to recover her senses a bit, and so she doesn’t feel quite as much like a lovelorn teenager when she turns to face him again. He’s watching her a bit warily, as though she might have taken offense at what had just happened. She decides to brush it off, and quickly asks, “What did you want to know about Hallow’s Eve?” Her voice still wobbles a bit. 

Killian goes along with her lack of addressing the hand thing, and says, “Whatever you can tell me.”

Emma dives into her explanation as she gathers the unused decorations and their storage crates from around the tavern, more than happy both to share her favorite holiday and to have an excuse to continue talking to him. She describes the origins as best she can, though the passage of time has worn away the town’s memory of them to such a degree that it’s not clear whether the festival started as a ritual of witchcraft or an excuse to celebrate the harvest before the harshness of winter sets in. Some people in the village believe that the amusement of the festival pleases the spirits of the dead in hopes that they will be less likely to visit during the winter and take souls to join them, while another faction uses it to reflect back on lost family and friends, and maintain that it’s the one night a year that they can visit the living. Others just see it as a good time and an opportunity to treat the children, and for everyone to relax after a season of hard work. Emma’s more inclined to fall in with the latter group, though she wouldn’t be surprised if spirits walked among them on festival evenings; this time of year does seem to be a bit… _ mysterious_. 

Killian is fascinated, and drinks in all she can tell him. They sit together (under Granny’s watchful eye) as the tavern slowly empties out, and Emma animatedly speaks of all the traditions and activities he’ll see tomorrow as she nurses a cup of Granny’s hot cocoa. She discovers that his eyes shine bright blue when he smiles, and that his expressive brows are not only active while flirting. His laugh is deep and joyful, and (though it might be her imagination) he seems surprised when it happens. She’s not judging though; goodness knows there have been times in her life where she went far too long without laughing. 

Emma also finds that she likes the way the dimming light of the candles caresses his dark hair, and that he brings laughter out of her as well. Her face hurts a bit from smiling by the time they part, practically shooed out by Granny, and she leaves with a new appreciation for hot cocoa and rum. The soft hooting of the owls in the brisk night air accompanies her on her walk home (Killian had offered to, but she has declined, pretty sure that if he had come with her she might not have allowed their time together to end). Her mind is filled with thoughts of a soft accent, dark scruff, and a man not unlike herself. Emma falls asleep that night even more excited than usual for the festivities the next day, knowing that Killian and his crew will be there as well. 

-/-/-/-

The morning of Hallow’s Eve dawns cold but clear, and though some gray clouds occasionally drift across the autumn sun as the day wanes on, the weather stays favorable. 

The trees surrounding the town and it’s little farms have put on their best display, their leaves glistening even more red, yellow, and orange in the sunlight. The smell of campfire smoke hangs in the air as the villagers prepare their various dishes for the festival and the communal bonfires are set up in the town square. Wafting scents of cider and spices permeate the air, reminding residents of the evening to come. Deep orange marigolds line the streets and compete with the villager’s decorations of streamers, leaf garland, and pumpkins for attention. 

As the sun begins to sink towards the horizon, Emma locks the door to her little cottage and pushes her cart into town. A black cat slinks around her legs as she makes her way, and she stops to give it a scratch behind the ears and a corner of the pumpkin bread she has baked for the festival. All week she has been baking the loaves and storing them in her cellar (and maybe using a bit of magic to speed up the process) so that she now has a couple dozen to share with her neighbors. She also has sweet apples from the few trees that surround her property.

As she makes her way towards the growing crowd at the town center, she meets neighbors and friends, all bringing their contributions to the large, specially built tables in the square. The wood groans under the weight of all the food; there’s sweet apple and pumpkin pies, savory meats, stews and soups featuring every imaginable kind of squash, roasted vegetables from the recent harvest at the farms, freshly picked apples, candied fruits, and all manner of spiced baked goods. The tables are flanked by barrels of ale and rum, and two steaming cauldrons of hot cider, along with stacks of wooden cups and ceramic flagons. 

Emma deposits her goods, smiling and laughing as her neighbors greet her and the children chase each other around the square. The evening light is quickly fading, and night will soon follow. The three huge bonfires in the central square are being stoked, bringing the flames higher and higher, and casting more and more dappled firelight across the festival. Dozens of smaller tables are distributed along the edges of the shops and houses, and some people have already claimed tables for themselves and their families. Emma parks her cart at a table near the bonfires, making sure to grab a cup of the hot apple cider before she sits down. She hasn’t yet seen Killian or his crew, but the masts of his ship (_ The Jolly Roger, Swan, the fastest ship in all the realms_) are just visible over the roofs, so she knows that he hasn’t left the port.

By this point, the town square is absolutely transformed. Splashes of color occupy every surface, and animated talk and the delighted shrieks of children fill the air. The gray smoke from the bonfires glows in their light as it ascends towards the emerging stars. Wrapping her hands around her warm beverage and tugging her thick shawl a bit closer around her shoulders to ward off the evening chill, Emma laughs as she watches the children. Most of them are wearing masks typical of the Hallow’s Eve festival; grinning skeleton faces, the whiskers of a black cat, the sleek feathers of an owl. A few seem to have chosen a more original path however, for she also sees the green scales of a dragon and the white feathers of a swan. A few of the adults move about in masks as well, and she spots a caricature of the king that makes her glad there are no soldiers in town tonight. 

The child in the swan feather mask bounces over to her, a small bag of treats swinging in her fist, and Emma recognizes the red braids as the firelight dances over them. 

“Oh my goodness! Where did such a beautiful swan come from?” she asks playfully.

The young girl peeks out from behind her mask, and the sweet dimples and freckles confirm Emma’s suspicions. “It’s just me, Emma!”

“Rose! Your mask is so wonderful, I thought you were a real swan!”

The girl blushes at the compliment on her handiwork, and says, “I wanted to be like you, like your name! And Mama says that some witches can turn into animals, is that where you got your name from?"

Emma smiles warmly, and leans in as though sharing a secret. “I actually picked my name for myself. Though I must confess, I’ve never tried turning into a swan.”

“Maybe you should try now?” Rose asks hopefully.

Emma rubs her arm affectionately. “Maybe another time. I wouldn’t want to mess up in front of everyone, you know?”

“But what if you didn’t mess up?”

“Then I would clearly be outshined by you, don’t you think?”

Rose is about to try another convincing tactic when her friends call to her. She shrugs and whirls around, throwing a “Bye, Emma!” over her shoulder. 

Emma is waving at the girl when a teasing voice speaks behind her.

“While I think you’d make a lovely swan, I must say I’m glad you aren’t one. Who else would I talk to in this quiet little town?” 

“Stick around for a few weeks and you’ll find it’s not all that quiet,” Emma says wryly, turning towards Killian as he melts out of the darkness of an adjacent street and makes his way towards her. (She had to take a minute to reign in her ridiculous smile, and _dammit_ _there goes the fluttering heart thing again_.)

Killian’s teeth flash in the light of the fire as he grins. “Perhaps one day.” He seems to have applied an extra thick layer of kohl this evening, for the blue of his eyes is shining even brighter than the day before. Of course, it could be the firelight. Or Emma’s imagination. Probably the latter.

Emma catches sight of his crew approaching the head table carrying several crates. She raises a curious eyebrow at Killian. “I thought you said you weren’t sure if you guys had anything worth giving?”

“And so I did, love. However, upon checking our cargo in the hold, I realized that we did have more chocolate than a single pirate crew could ever consume. Or should ever consume.”

“Ah. And where did said chocolate come from?"

“A recent haul. I assure you, it will not be missed. You have my word on that. Those bloody merchants are hoarders and they keep all the good product to themselves, and most of it goes bad in the end.” Unfortunately, his broody expression is ruined for Emma by the way his eyebrows draw together with the indignation in his voice, and she has to bite her cheek to keep from giggling at him. 

“Well it’s not going to waste tonight. We haven’t had good chocolate in town for a while.” She beckons to him, and he obligingly follows her to the food tables where they meet until up with his crew, who seem a bit unsure of themselves.

Now that she can focus on something other than Killian and the lilt of his accent, she notices that the conversations around them have become rather muted, with most of the villagers keeping a wary eye on the newcomers. Emma decides to just push through it; the sooner they realize they have nothing to fear from the pirates (at least tonight), the better. She begins helping them unpack, setting the wrapped bars of chocolate next to the other sweets. Granny’s sharp gaze sends goosebumps along her arms, and a moment later the older woman comes and whispers in her ear.

“Emma, how do we know they aren’t trying to poison us?”

Killian shifts uncomfortably next to her; Granny never was very good at whispering. 

Emma glances over at him and winks, then turns back to Granny. “Good point. Let’s see.” She waves her hand over the chocolate, which glows softly with a pure white light, to perform a simple detection spell. “My magic says it’s fine,” she asserts, and then breaks off a piece and pops it in her mouth. The chocolate is a perfect balance of bitter and sweet, with a rich, smooth texture, and Emma has to hold back a moan of delight. She swallows, and adds, “And I say it’s more than fine. You should try some, Granny.”

The older woman was never one to back down from a challenge, and after tasting it tries and fails to conceal her enjoyment and admits that it’s ‘pretty damn good’. The conversations pick back up again, and soon everyone is queueing up to get a taste. 

Killian nods gratefully at Emma, swiping a piece off the pile to bring with him as they make their way back to her table. They both startle at sudden loud voices nearby, but discover that there’s no disagreement as they both had feared; one of Killian’s crew members is doubled over, laughing with glee at the caricature mask of the king, and once he regains his breath he compliments the woman wearing it. Emma and Killian smile at each other and continue on their way, as the pirate and woman begin trading insults aimed at the king together, drawing in a few more good-humored critics, both pirate and villager alike. 

Emma’s hand brushes against Killian’s as they make their way through the crowd, and though they both jump and instinctively withdraw at the contact, there’s no mistaking the blush on the tips of his ears and his pleased smile as he scratches behind them. Emma knows her face must be a bit red as well, but in the flickering light of the bonfires, the festive atmosphere, and the pleasant company, she doesn’t really mind.

-/-/-/-

The rest of the night proves to be the best Hallow’s Eve festival Emma has ever attended. She nearly talks herself hoarse with Killian and the other villagers, and though he isn’t by her side the entire night, he is definitely the person she spends the most time with. They each carve a pumpkin, with Killian’s hook proving to be a useful tool in creating the background of stars against his glowing outline of a ship on the water (she suspects the real life counterpart is bobbing away in the harbor). The man definitely could definitely be paid handsomely as an artist, as she tells him, which elicits yet another blush across his ears. He diverts the subject away as he compliments her pumpkin, which, though not quite as neat as his, sports a decent-looking cat. Emma has an advantage though; a wave of her hand causes the glowing feline to stretch and flick its tail. Killian laughs and admits she has him beat.

Emma explains to him the rules of bobbing for apples and soon finds Killian to be disturbingly good at it. He chuckles good-naturedly at her exaggerated pout when she repeatedly comes up empty, and she retaliates by splashing him with a faceful of water, sending up shrieks of delight from some nearby children. He simply laughs some more while accepting the towel she hands him, the joy in his eyes as he meets her gaze taking her breath away. (Or maybe it’s those wet strands of dark hair hanging over his forehead? Could be both.)

They enjoy the spread of delicious food, filling up on stew and herb-roasted vegetables, apple pie, and, yes, more chocolate, and drinking hot cider and rum all the while. It was a good harvest this year, so there’s more than enough food for everyone to eat their fill, even with the addition of Killian and the other pirates (who, as Killian correctly predicted, are _ very _ appreciative of the fresh and varied dishes).

The pirates prove to be excellent storytellers, keeping the villagers on the edges of their seats, either from laughter or anticipation, as tales of ghosts and mysterious creatures are passed around as per tradition. Killian is content to listen, for the most part, but Emma does get one tale out of him, of a forbidden treasure that curses anyone who steals even a single piece. She is absolutely captivated, though she’s not sure whether it’s by the story or just _ him _. Emma relays her tale of the witches of old, with their bubbling cauldrons and powerful wands, a favorite of the children, and for as intensely as she was focused on Killian’s story, he seems equally enchanted by her own, sitting rapt with attention and reacting at all the right parts.

As the night wears on, the children surround Emma and beg for her to show them some magic. She smiles and raises a brow, her heart glowing with pride as they gasp in glee at the suddenly multi-colored bonfires in the middle of the square. The flames dance bright orange and apple green and purple, with wisps of blue and white threaded through them, and the smoke weaves itself into fantastical shapes. Smoky skeletons, cats, and witches dance across the night sky as a small band strikes up a tune, and the villagers begin to dance as well. An accompanying crowd of onlookers forms on the edges of the square and even some pirates join in on the dancing. 

Emma feels a gentle tap on her shoulder from Killian’s hook and turns to face him. 

“May I have this dance, Miss Swan?” Killian bows gallantly and holds out his ring-clad hand to her, giving her an opportunity to decline should she wish to.

She most certainly _ does not _ wish to. “It would be my pleasure, Captain Jones.” Emma grins and curtsies, leaving her shawl behind on her chair with Killian’s black leather coat. 

They join the crowd of dancers as a new song begins, a merry tune with a building pace. Killian’s hand is warm and rough against her own, while the metal of his hook remains cool to the touch as they move through the steps of the dance. Emma spins out, the skirts of her dress whirling around her legs, and is pulled back into him. She collides with his solid chest, and when she looks up to meet his eyes, their intensity takes her breath away. He beams at her, and she decides at that moment that she wants to see more of that smile. 

They continue to dance in the light of the bonfires, sometimes being passed on to new partners but always ending up together again, until the need for a refreshing drink makes itself known, and they nearly throw themselves back into their seats, skin flushed, hair windswept, and breathing heavily, but oh so happy. 

“I never knew pirates could dance so well,” Emma comments in between gulps of cool water.

Killian reaches out to brush some flyaway strands of hair out of her face, his fingers just grazing her cheek. “I wasn’t always a pirate, love.”

Emma tilts her head as she studies him. “I didn’t think so.”

“And you, I imagine you have not always run the apothecary here in the village?” Though his question is probing, his expression and tone are gentle and curious, and Emma knows that he doesn’t expect her to divulge more than she needs to.

“No,” she says softly. “Maybe one day I’ll tell you how I came to be here.” She shakes her head. “But not tonight.”

“Fair enough. Perhaps someday I will divulge the tale of my path to piracy.”

They clink their glasses together, and it feels like a promise.

-/-/-/-

The next day, no one moves about town until noon, the last stragglers of the festival having gone home as the dawn was breaking. Killian and his crew assist the villagers with the cleanup of the square, and as a result, the task takes half the time it usually does. Some of the villagers accompany the pirates back to the docks to see them off, and as goodbyes are said and the ship is prepared for their departure, Killian pulls Emma aside. 

“Emma. Listen, love, I-” He stops, swallowing hard, longing and reluctance evident on his face. He rubs distractedly at the scruff on his jaw, casting about for the right words. 

Emma understands; his uncertain expression reflects the state of her heart. She just met him a few days ago, but in the time they’ve spent together, she knows him enough to realize that she doesn’t want to say good-bye to him yet. This discovery is puzzling and terrifying, because she has never connected with someone so deeply. His voice draws her out of her thoughts.

“It has been a privilege and a pleasure to be in your company these past days.” His hand grasps one of hers, squeezing it gently with gratitude. “And we cannot thank you and your village enough for allowing us to join your celebrations. It was truly a wonderful time.” The cold wind whipping in off the sea has reddened his cheeks (and hers as well, she’s sure), otherwise, she might think he was blushing. 

Emma nods, a sudden lump having grown in her throat, but she tries to speak around it. “It was nice having new faces around for a change. I, um, I had a really great time too.” Before she can stop herself, she blurts the next part out. “You know, Hallow’s Eve happens at the same time every year. Maybe you’ll be in this part of the sea again?” Emma mentally kicks herself. _ Way to be transparent. _

Killian laughs, a grin pulling up the corners of his mouth, and the sound fills Emma with hope. “Aye, I wager we will.” He looks contemplative for a moment, and then says, “Perhaps I could pay you back for your kindness? Our line of work takes us all throughout the realms; is there anything, herbs or medicines or anything else really, that you desire? I- well, we could procure it for you, bring it here.”

Emma’s heart soars; he’s offering a way to continue their friendship and interactions outside of the festival. She tries to reign in her excitement. “I’m sure I could come up with _ something. _ But you must let me pay you for the items and your labor.”

He looks aghast at the thought. “Nonsense. I’m trying to return a favor to _ you. _”

Emma sighs, exasperated. “How about just the items then?” Before he can protest, she pushes on. “If it’s products that I’m going to sell, I can’t really have it be stolen. No offense,” she adds quickly. 

“None taken, love. We are pirates, after all.” Though he doesn’t seem to entirely like it, he agrees to her stipulation. “I wouldn’t want stolen goods traced back here,” he asserts.

“It’s a deal, then.” An idea occurs to her, a wonderful, _ wonderful _, idea, and with a wave of her hand and a flash of her magic, she’s holding a thick white feather that glows with a faint, warm light. She gives it to Killian, who examines it in awe and a bit of confusion, looking to her for an explanation. “I enchanted it. Keep it on your ship, and letters I send out will find you. For the medicines, and… stuff. I have another feather if you need to send a reply.”

He raises his eyebrows, impressed. “And who can I expect to deliver the letters?”

“Have you ever seen an albatross?”

“Aye, we spot them on their migrations sometimes.”

“There’s a colony that nests not far from here. One of the birds is, well, she’s a bit like a friend. It’s a witch thing,” Emma adds at his amused look. “She can make the journey.” As Killian nods his understanding, Emma adds, “Maybe have some fish to give her when she lands? She’d appreciate it.”

“I can do that.” Killian turns his head at a shout from his first mate, telling him that the ship is ready to cast off. “Well, I must be going.” He doesn’t look too happy about it, but manages one more smile. “Farewell, Emma. I look forward to hearing from you.”

“Safe travels, Killian.” She wants to say more, but he has already turned away and is heading up the gangplank, shouting orders at the crew, so she has to settle for waving at him when he turns around. And within a few minutes, the Jolly Roger is shrinking smaller and smaller against the horizon.

Though she is saddened by their parting, Emma’s magic pulses in excitement.

She’ll see him again.

-/-/-/- 

Corresponding with Killian quickly becomes a highlight of Emma’s days. She sends him lists of ingredients and items for her apothecary, along with the occasional request from another villager (which becomes more and more often as they realize the advantages of having pirates for friends). As time goes on, the contents of their letters to each other becomes less about their business transactions, and filled with details of their daily lives, stories from their pasts, and questions to get to know one another better. Emma’s hunch during the Hallow’s Eve festival was correct; she and Killian are kindred spirits, in more ways than one. His letters are intelligent, entertaining, and thought provoking, and Emma spends many winter evenings at her fireside reading his flowing script. 

He enters her dreams as well, in visions of his dark hair, styled by the ocean breeze, of his blue eyes and expressive brows, of his accented voice and gorgeous laugh. She loves and hates the dreams, for while she’s grateful that she can interact with him (or a version of him, at least) in them, she’d much rather have the real thing.

She doesn’t have to wait as long as she thought to see him again, however, for Killian and his pirate crew return to the village mid-spring, delivering goods and staying for a couple of nights to restock supplies. They return once more in the summer as well, and on both occasions Emma and Killian spend more late nights at Granny’s tavern (Granny herself has warmed up considerably to the pirates since the festival), drinking hot cocoa with rum and strengthening their friendship.

The pirates return for the next Hallow’s Eve festival, of course, bringing with them crystallized sweet candies from Agrabah. Killian carves an exquisite swan pumpkin, and Emma can’t even muster an ounce of resentment at him for beating her this time. They dance together once more, and as Killian dips and spins her, Emma feels herself falling for him. He leaves her that night at the door of her cottage with a soft kiss to her cheek and a blinding smile, stumbling a bit on his way back to the path to town because he keeps turning around to look at her.

Emma nearly closes off her heart, however, when the Jolly Roger makes an emergency landing that next May, bringing a frantic crew and an injured Killian into her shop. A recent hire on the ship had turned out to be a spy sent from one of the more malicious kingdoms, and though he had failed in his goal of ending Killian’s life, the knife he used still caused some damage and was poisoned to boot. Emma is sure that she has never felt such all-consuming fear in her life. Killian is barely conscious by the time he ends up in her shop, and though she is thankfully able to counteract the poison with her supplies, it’s contents were quite potent, and he needs a few days to recover. 

Emma has him brought to her cottage, where she can keep a close watch on his healing progress, and has almost decided to back away from their connection to protect herself from feeling such pain again when Killian changes her mind, though unknowingly. That first night, while Emma is monitoring his recovery and he is still sleeping off the effects of the poison, he murmurs her name as he dreams, and his fingers twitch as though searching for her hand. Emma grasps his hand in both of hers, and he sighs, just barely tightening his grip in response, his expression conveying utmost peace, and she realizes with clarity that she could not live with herself if she pushed him away. That she truly, desperately doesn’t _ want _ to push him away. That he is worth it. (That _ love _ is worth it.) She presses a kiss to his brow, all too fleeting so as not to wake him, and whispers a promise to never give in to fear again.

Killian fully recovers, and their letter writing gets more and more frequent, their conversations becoming deep and significant. Killian earns Granny’s full approval on Hallow’s Eve that year, when he arrives the day of the festival to find Emma absent from the gathering crowd in the town square. Granny informs him that Emma had become ill the day before with a fever and a cough. The older woman is preparing to go check on her and bring her some soup when Killian volunteers to go instead. He arrives at her cottage to find Emma, pale and coughing as she speaks, tying her cloak and putting on her boots to come into town. She insists that she’s already recovering and took one of her own medicines to ensure that she is no longer contagious. Killian believes that she is already on the mend (she doesn’t look nearly as bad as Granny said she was the day before), but is still anxious about her attending the festival. 

Emma knows that he means well, but Hallow’s Eve is her favorite celebration of the year, and she missed too many of them growing up. When she expresses as much to him, he accepts that she will be going with or without his help, and she is grateful when he simply accompanies her instead of arguing further. Though he does insist that she takes it slow, much to Emma’s annoyance. It proves to be a good idea, because she finds herself quite tired once they reach the festivities. Killian ensures that she has a good table to sit at, and is there for her all night, keeping her supplied with warm drinks against the autumn chill, and even giving her his heavy leather duster to wear when he catches her shivering. And when Emma falls asleep, he carries her home, tucking her into the warmth of her bed and leaving her to rest. 

“I know I once called him a heartbreaker, but pirate or not, he’s one of the good ones, girl,” Granny says gruffly when she visits Emma the next day. “Hang onto him.”

Emma doesn’t need to be told twice. She continues her letter writing to Killian in the months that he is away, and if she needed a sign of the strength of their connection, the letters would be it. Though she has missed him since his first departure, she finally begins saying so in writing, as does he. His letters now start with _ My dearest Emma _ , while hers end with a simple but poignant _ Yours. _

Emma doesn’t realize that she loves him, truly and fully _ loves _ him, until the next Hallow’s Eve festival. 

A month before the holiday, a raiding party from a neighboring kingdom comes in the night, destroying most of the crops in the village’s farms and stealing a sizeable number of livestock. Thankfully no one is hurt, but by the time Emma arrives on the scene, magic blazing, it is too late. The criminals are long gone, and she is not skilled enough to regrow the lost food. She writes to Killian that night, and informs him that they’ve decided to not hold the Hallow’s Eve festival this year; they don’t know how they’ll survive the winter with such a depleted harvest, let alone host a large party. It’s best he knows now, rather than have the crew show up expecting a celebration and finding none. The residents of the village are tense and scared, and Emma feels especially helpless with magic at her disposal but unable to do more than dull the ache of hunger. There’s talk of sending a delegation to see the King and plead for aid, but he’s never shown great love or loyalty to his subjects, so there’s the possibility that nothing will come of it. Meanwhile, Emma grows even more worried because she doesn’t receive a reply from Killian, and she soon finds out why.

A few days before the usual celebration time, the Jolly Roger pulls into port, riding low in the water. The villagers mutter worriedly amongst themselves as the pirates tie off the ship; they don’t have the extra food to host a crew of nearly twenty people. Their fears, however, are soon assuaged, because as the pirates begin unloading their usual cargo deliveries, there is much more than usual. Shouts of joy and relief fill the seaside air as crates and barrels and sack are revealed to be full to bursting with food; preserved meat, vegetables and grain to replace what was lost in the harvest, bushels of bright apples, and plenty of pastries, chocolate, and sweets. 

Emma finds Killian amongst the jubilant chaos, helping to bring still more crates up from the hold below. She calls his name to get his attention, and is greeted with a gorgeous, heart-stopping smile. 

“Emma! I’m so glad you’re alright, love.” He pulls her into a tight hug, fingers tangling in her hair, sighing in relief. 

She returns the embracing, breathing him in, but pulls away, asking, “Killian! What- I mean, how-?”

“I got your letter. We all agreed that we couldn’t very well do nothing, so we went to the large market in the capital and bought enough food to get you all through the winter. Bought, not stole; it would have been quite difficult to pull that off with such a large haul, and we didn’t want any of you to be punished if the offense was somehow traced back-”

“Killian.” Emma presses her hand to his chest, stopping his rambling. “I- I cannot thank you enough. We owe you our lives, but I fear that we’ll never be able to repay such a large debt. I mean- I can’t imagine… the price alone must have been-”

“You owe us nothing, Emma.” His hand tightens its grip on her waist. “_Nothing. _ Consider it our thanks for the generosity and hospitality you’ve all shown us these past few years. It was a unanimous decision. _ You owe us nothing_.” 

It’s his insistence that does it, along with the fierce expression on his face and the conviction in his voice. Emma is overwhelmed with gratitude and love for this man who has become such an important fixture in her life, and relief for the safety of her village, her family. She can do nothing but surge forward, grab the lapels of his jacket, and_ finally _ kiss him _ . _

She catches him by surprise at first, but he soon regains his senses and returns the kiss just as passionately. Her hands thread through his hair, and he wraps both arms around her back and lifts her off of the deck of the ship in a move fit for the storybooks. Emma sighs into his mouth, reveling in the faint taste of rum, but more so the taste of him. He nips affectionately at her lip, and all sense of time disappears as they are lost in each other. 

When they finally have to break apart to breathe, they stand there for a moment, foreheads pressed together. Emma leans back a bit to look into Killian’s eyes, unable to dim her smile and finding that she doesn’t really care. She reaches up to cup his face in her palm, his stubble scratching against her skin.

“I love you, Killian.” There’s not a waver of doubt or fear in her voice. She _ loves _ him, and she wants to spend the rest of her life saying it.

“I love you too. _ Gods _, do I love you.” He kisses her again, and Emma sends a thank you to whatever deities exist for sending him into her shop four years ago. 

-/-/-/-

Though it’s a bit messy and rushed on such short notice, the town hosts the Hallow’s Eve festival a few days later. Spirits run high, the bonfires burn brighter than ever, and food and drink flow. Emma and Killian are the talk of the party (apparently some of the villagers and crewmen have had bets for _ years _ as to when they would finally get together). They don’t really mind though; they’re too incandescently happy to finally be _ home_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it!


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